


Closure

by hustlehobi (brainstorming)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Sad gay robots, passing mention of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:51:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainstorming/pseuds/hustlehobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just in time, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> Me ( being me ) came up with this wonderful idea on tumblr.
> 
> " brainstorm having nightmares about the shit they did to quark at grindcore and having a mental breakdown because he imagines him dying in the worst ways possible and eventually it gets so bad he has to go to rung and gets some fuCKING CLOSURE uvu "
> 
> Because the world can never have enough Brainstorm sobbing his poor little spark out.

It was the third time in the span of a week that Brainstorm had fallen asleep at his workbench, hunched over one whatever little side project he was permitted to toy with after the trial. There were no guns this time, no aquatic predators with lasers stuck to their heads ( a far-fetched idea, but one Perceptor had come to expect from the engineer. He had already thought about asking the captains to stop by the nearest habitable planet and go fishing for a few hours ). At least Brainstorm had the sense to keep his mask _on_ while he worked, even as sleep-deprived as he was. His inventions had a tendency to explode -- Brainstorm claimed the bigger the explosion, the better the gun ( when he finally found the scattered remains that were left, of course ). Perceptor was having none of it.

This time however, it was the said mask that Brainstorm's focus was on; a file sat precariously on the edge of the bench, flecks of purple paint scattered haphazardly across his lap and the mask. Only the barest hint remained of the Decepticon insignia that still stood out like a sore thumb. _He must have been working on it for hours_ , Perceptor reasoned. _Old paint was near impossible to scrape off without the proper tools -- which he seems to be lacking, if the scratches are anything to go by_.

The barest hint of amusement quirked one corner of the sniper's mouth, taking his time to examine Brainstorm's handiwork; blue optics jerked to the flier's winglets as one of many twitched, and he returned to his observations when he remained in a doze. Soon after, his expression mirrored Brainstorm's own tight-lipped frown, though the low whine that leaked from his mouth didn't come from the sniper. Optics ridges creased and he took a step closer, intending to shake Brainstorm awake -- whatever had caused him to make the poorly sound surely couldn't be good.

With a startled cry of alarm the jet in question shot up, scattering the paint chips across his desk with the gust of his vents coming back online that left him coughing in the flecks, exhaling a strangled wheeze as frenzied yellow optics attempted to make sense of the situation at hand. Brainstorm was quick to leap from his stool away from the other scientist, ignoring the crunch of metal on metal as his lower back and extremities connected with the chromatography unit; it elicited a yelp from him, though luckily it was enough to snap him from his panicked stupor.

Perceptor watched it unfold with a curious eye, though his optic ridges remained furrowed with his evident concern. "Brainstorm?"

He startled at the sudden voice, optics shooting wider before turning lax as he realised the speaker. Brainstorm settled into a more relaxed posture, though his winglets remained stiff and high on his shoulders. "Oh- ah- Perce!" The jet had been caught; he may as well put on a show. "Come to find out what next genius thing I'm working on? I hope not, because guess what - tough luck! It's top secret and I doubt you would understa-"

" _Actually_ ," Perceptor cut him off before he could continue, raising a servo and gesturing for him to stop. "I can't leave the lab until you return to your habsuite. You fell asleep at your desk again -- _and_ left a mess."

 _Oh_. Brainstorm hadn't been expecting that -- it was a stupid notion to think anything had changed between them, even _he_ knew. Of course nothing had changed, this was _Perceptor_ \-- he _never_ changed. If a method worked without a hitch ( in this case, keeping his distance from Brainstorm ), he would rigidly stick to it. The engineer brought an arm up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, working fingers between taut cables. "Mess? Right! I'll, uh, get right onto that.." Before he could make a move to grab the broom in the corner, Perceptor beat him to the chase.

"No, Brainstorm. You've spent long enough in the lab, and your energy is severely lacking. Go and recharge in your habsuite -- in a _proper_ berth this time."

Brainstorm's optics narrowed suspiciously, though a teasing glint lit the dull yellow of sleep-deprived eyes. "Did all that radiation from working the engines finally get to your head? Did you _really_ make a joke?"

Perceptor, on the other hand, was not so amused. "Off with you Brainstorm, before I change my mind."

"Okay, okay! You can't rush genius, Perce, but I'll let you off just this once." The sound of the door hissing back into place broke into his processor, and he braced his servos on his desk.

It would do no good to ask what was wrong, he knew that from experience. The two had been over this before; Perceptor would ask what was wrong, and Brainstorm would refuse to tell him or avoid the subject completely. He knew how stubborn the jet could be -- he wouldn't open up unless he was absolutely forced to, and he certainly wouldn't open up to a _rival_. It was time to bring in the professionals.

With one last, heavy sigh, Perceptor reached for the keyboard and tapped in Rung's frequency.

 

It was awkward -- no, awkward was an **understatement**. It was torture in its purest form.

Waiting was never Brainstorm's strong point.

The jet huffed a sigh, bracing his servos on his knees; rough wires pressed against his calloused fingers that invaded the gaps between his armour, winglets constantly twitching in a nervous display as he stared at the plain walls surrounding him. Hunched in a seat that looked comically too small for his flight frame, the jet made the perfect image of a pity party.

Before he could start to properly work himself up into a hyperventilating mess, the bell chimed; Rung was ready for his next session.

Or, rather, his _only_ session. Brainstorm still didn't know why he'd let Perceptor convince him that this was a good idea -- it was too late to back out. He'd already made an appointment with the psychotherapist.

The door slid open on well-oiled gears and out stepped Rung, adjusting his glasses and staring down at the clipboard he held tucked under one arm. "Perceptor, you can come.. in." Rung paused, eyeing the flighty engineer with a level gaze. "Brainstorm?"

Brainstorm sucked up the attention, no matter how negative he presumed it to be; steeling his nerves for the passive lashing he doubted he would miss, he returned the therapist's gaze with one of his own. He nodded, wheezing an anxious chuckle. " _Ye-ah_. Perce said it was a good idea -- I'm starting to doubt his judgement, if I'm honest. This sounds like _torture_."

Rung ignored the stress of his last word, fixing the engineer with a small smile. "I'm sure Perceptor means well. You never know, this could do you some good. It's not safe to bottle so much up and have no one to share it with." He gestured to the open door, inviting the mech in. "Please, come in."

 

Brainstorm's fears were misguided; as soon as he stepped foot in the small office, he could feel a definite change in the air that left him the little bit of confidence he had left. The engineer chose to sit upright on the berth, facing Rung with one leg crossed over the other. The therapist took up his notes in one servo, adjusted his glasses again, and started. "We'll start off with something simple, Brainstorm. Why did Perceptor send you down to see me?"

That was easy -- Rung had been right. It was harder to _say_ , catching in his throat before he could speak the words, but he remained steadfast, even through his voice taking a turn for the quiet side. "I.. haven't been recharging well."

"And why is that?" Rung's gentle prompting inspired Brainstorm to continue, though he took his time.

"..I can still see him."

A frown from the therapist; not good. "I beg your pardon? See who?" Rung had a fair idea already. He wanted to hear Brainstorm say it for himself.

"You _know_ who I mean." The careful façade of a self-assured scientist shattered, leaving a haggard soul in its place. Rung had to strain to hear what he was saying, even in such a plaintive tone as Brainstorm's. "You were _there_ , you heard it all! I can still see him in my head Rung, I can _see_ him- I don't-"

His voxcoder reset under the strain of a hiccuped whimper, rubbing harshly at his tearing optics with the butt of his palm. "I couldn't do it, okay? I already feel guilty as Pit for seeing him again, I-"

Rung sat quietly, offering his silent support to the broken mech openly sobbing on the berth in front of him. Gentle waves of reassurance brushed Brainstorm's EM field, reaching a servo to the flier and rubbing small circles on the back of his servo with his thumb. "It's okay, Brainstorm. Go on. Everything you say here is confidential, strictly between us."

It took another long moment of gentle coaxing before he was prepared to talk again. "I can't recharge because I keep seeing _him_ \- seeing _Quark_ , I mean. He's- he always looks worse and worse each time I try to power down, and it's not just the fact that he's blown to bits -- no, I _wish_ it were only that. He's _smiling_ , Rung. Like he forgives me for letting him _die_ , but I don't forgive myself so how can he _possibly_ -"

Another reassuring pulse from Rung's EMF kept Brainstorm's tears at bay. "It's alright, Brainstorm. It's not your fault he's gone. Listen to me for a moment," he added as an afterthought; the engineer looked like he was about to argue, bottom lip trembling. The mask still had yet to be fixed -- Perceptor's treat for him agreeing to see a therapist. "Bad things happen to good bots, and a lot of mechs think they caused a lot of their friends' deaths. It's _not true_. You didn't let him die -- I understand you being upset about the passing of your.. _familiar_ , as you once called it, and you have every right to be. But please, don't take this out on yourself." An index finger traced the vague outline of a carefully crafted dent on the inside of a wrist -- Brainstorm ducked his helm, sniffling. "And Brainstorm, think of it this way," Rung smiled. "maybe he's smiling because he loves you."

Brainstorm paused, slowly coming to his senses with a weak chuckle and a poor attempt at a smile; it was a good starting point.

"He always did see the best in everyone -- even when no one else did."

 


End file.
